


So much more than we possibly thought we could

by bluejbird



Series: Interconnected [9]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejbird/pseuds/bluejbird
Summary: Jim and Leonard know they aren't each others soulmates, but that doesn't matter. When they come face to face with their intended soulmates, will it tear them apart or bring them closer together?Or, the one where the soulmarks on their bodies aren't the names Jim and Bones would choose to bear.





	

Leonard’s cock is buried deep inside Jim’s ass, one hand grasping his hip, the other milking Jim’s dick as the orgasm makes Jim’s whole body shudder. He clenches around Leonard and that’s his undoing, thrusting frantically as he comes, pushing himself as deep inside Jim as he can. His vision whites out for a moment that seems to stretch forever. And then he can see again, and he rests his forehead against the tensed muscles of Jim’s back, sucking in breath, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. 

It takes a little longer than it probably should, and that might be due to even more energetic than usual sex, or it may be that Leonard needs to add an additional run or two around the ship to his weekly exercise regime. 

As he eases out of Jim – who is wonderfully compliant in the way he only ever is after a really good fucking – he ghosts his hand, and then his lips, over the dark lettering etched across Jim’s shoulder blade. 

He traces the letters, as he’s done probably a hundred times by now. 

_ Carol Marcus.  _

Leonard doesn’t know who she is. But he knows  _ what _ she is. 

Jim’s soulmate. 

Once upon a time, those letters made Leonard ache somewhere deep down inside, painful at a cellular level. It used to twist up his insides in a mix of jealousy and anxiety and wanting what’s best for Jim, who he loves with every fibre of his being. 

He remembers the first time he saw the soulmark, one week into the academy, Jim coming out of the bathroom into the room they shared (which Jim later confessed responsibility for, putting the hacking skills that Leonard was sure would get him in trouble one day to good use). There’d been a towel wrapped low around his hips, leaving large swathes of skin exposed. And Leonard had tried his best not to stare, but failed miserably – even now he knows very few people who can resist a half naked Jim Kirk. 

When Jim had turned around to grab something from his dresser drawer, Leonard had seen the words, dark against pale skin. 

Stupidly, he’d felt a surge of disappointment. It was a stupid reaction, on so many levels. At the time, he’d barely known Jim – enough that he didn’t mind rooming with him, enough that he enjoyed spending time with the kid, enough that there was definitely a stirring in his loins when he looked at him that he wasn’t quite ready to examine yet. But definitely not long enough to be hoping to see his own name written there. 

And it was even more stupid because Leonard has his own soulmark scrawled across his skin, high enough on his thigh that, now, when Jim traces the single word there, it sends darts of electricity straight to his cock. 

Almost four years of friendship, almost three years of fucking, almost two years of admitting that it’s more than that and using sappy terms like boyfriend and saying I love you, one year – almost – of spending every night together to the point where Leonard can’t even remember what the inside of his quarters looks like…

It’s enough time that the words don’t fill him with despair or envy anymore. Instead he almost feels sorry for this Carol, whoever she might be. Because Leonard can’t imagine anything worse than not having Jim Kirk want you. 

“I don’t care what it says on our bodies,” Jim had said fiercely, gripping Leonard tight enough that he’d worn finger shaped bruises across his biceps for days afterwards. “It only matters what it says in our hearts. And I choose you. I choose you as my soulmate and as the person I love and as my future.”

And Leonard, who has been chosen before, but for all the wrong reasons by all the wrong people, had never been happier than in that moment. 

Occasionally he wonders about them, their predetermined soulmates, chosen for them in ways no one in the galaxy seems to understand but just goes along with anyway. He wonders who they are and what they do. He wonders if they’re excited to meet them, or if they would rather have someone else’s name etched on their skin. 

Jim can always tell when Leonard is thinking about it. He’ll walk over and press his thumb to the crease marks between Leonard’s brows to smooth it out. And he’ll kiss him and say, “It doesn’t matter, it won’t change anything.”

And Leonard will smile and kiss him back and he’ll believe it in his heart and in his blood and in his bones. But the horrible, cynical voice in the back of his brain can’t help but wonder whether Jim’s trying to convince Leonard, or convince himself. 

Mostly, though, life with Jim, and life on the Enterprise, keeps him on his toes enough that he doesn’t really think about it all that much. And when he does, it doesn’t fill him with the pain and despair that it once did.

~~~ 

Jim hates the way his blood runs cold when he hears the name. He stares at Spock like he’s never seen him before, like he must be mistaken. 

He doesn’t look at Bones. Can’t. Even though he feels the weight of Bones’s shocked gaze resting heavily on him. 

“When were you going to tell me that?” he asks, and Spock just looks at him like it doesn’t matter, like this isn’t just the cherry on the sundae that is this whole bizarre situation. 

Bones is still staring at him, and it’s a struggle to look back because he doesn’t know what to say. Call it naivety. Call it ignorance. Call it whatever you like – and Jim has been called plenty of names before – but he’d believed everything he’d said to Bones. About how it doesn’t matter, how nothing would change. And that was mostly driven by the idea that, somehow, the universe owed him a reprieve and he would never meet Carol. And Bones would never meet his soulmate either. And so they’d never have to face them and send them away. Never have to explain to their soulmates that they’re unwanted. Unneeded.

But Jim makes himself look, tries to make the wild panic slide off his face before he does. With the way Bones’s face twists, he knows he’s failed. 

He wants to reach out and tell Bones it’s going to be okay – or as okay as things ever are with the crazy mishaps they always seem to encounter. He wants to wrap his arms around Bones and kiss the spot just below his left ear that makes him hum happily. He wants to push him back against one of the slightly less important consoles and kiss him until they’re both breathless, like they don’t have a mysterious murdering bastard who is definitely up to something in the brig, and a rogue soulmate, who has somehow snuck onto the ship under false pretenses, running around personally fucking up Jim’s life. 

He doesn’t think the bridge crew would appreciate that, even if most of them do know about him and Bones and look the other way, just like everyone does for Uhura and Spock. 

It barely takes a split second for the look to pass between him and Bones, and he tries to fill it with reassurance and love. And then the professional veneer falls like a veil over Bones’s face, and he’s not Bones at all, he’s Doctor McCoy, the best CMO in Starfleet. 

“Well, you should probably go and talk to her then,” McCoy says, and Jim nods. 

“Computer, locate Lieutenant Carol Marcus,” Jim says. 

“Lieutenant Marcus is presently in Science lab seven,” the computer helpfully intones, and that’s exactly where Jim plans to head to. 

He tells Spock he has the conn, then marches to the turbolift. Without looking, he knows McCoy is beside him. 

“I’m going back to my sickbay,” McCoy explains, before Jim can ask. “I’m not coming with you.”

“Bones–”

McCoy looks at him then leans in, presses the briefest kiss to Jim’s lips, and for a second he’s Bones again. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” he says fiercely, then strides off as soon as the turbolift doors open. 

Jim watches him go, then turn in the opposite direction, towards the Science labs. 

“We need to talk,” he says as soon as he sees Carol. Her head snaps up, and her eyes are wide, trapped, trying to figure out what her story will be. 

“Of course, Captain,” she says, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. He gestures for her to follow, and given that the torpedoes are very much an issue, leads her into the corridor. It’s not the ideal place for the conversation he wants to have, but he suddenly doesn’t care very much about whether anyone overhears. 

She falls into step beside him, and Jim remembers her sitting next to him on the shuttle, how he’d given her an appraising glance that had made Bones roll his eyes as he always did when Jim appreciated someone else’s beauty. How she’d lied to his face and hadn’t said a thing. 

“So, Doctor Marcus,” Jim begins smoothly, and her eyes snap to his face. He doesn’t look at her, but he can’t help but enjoy the burst of discomfort that radiates from her. He doesn’t like being lied to. 

“You know who I am,” she says. 

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jim replies. “What I don’t know is why you’re on board my ship.”

She stops and explains, about her connection to the Admiral, about the torpedoes, and it’s all very useful information that Jim needs to know for the matter at hand, but it’s not what he’s asking. 

There’s a sincerity in her bright blue eyes as she apologises, and that draws Jim in more than he wants to admit. 

“I’m Carol Marcus,” she says, as if she wants to start over again. 

“James Kirk.”

“Torpedoes,” she adds, trying to turn away. 

“Soulmates.”

She stops, then turns back. Her eyes are even brighter than before. 

“Yes,” she says softly. “I know.”

“I’m seeing someone,” Jim tells her, and it feels like a betrayal. Those words don’t adequately describe what Bones is to him. What he is to Bones. The relationship between them. 

“Oh,” Carol says. “I see. That’s...unfortunate. But perhaps we can–”

“That isn’t going to change,” Jim says, firmly. “I love him. Whatever the words on my back say.”

Carol blinks at him for a moment. 

“I think we’d best discuss this later,” she says. “Those torpedoes aren’t going to disarm themselves and–”

“Fine,” Jim says, and follows her to one of the shuttle bays, listening to her explain as much as she knows about the torpedoes.

Inside the shuttle, his back turned, he hears a rustle of clothing. He doesn’t know why he turns, but he does. 

“Turn around!” she insists, and Jim complies, but not before he sees the thick black letters spelling James Tiberius Kirk across her ribcage. Seeing it there, seeing that proof, makes Jim’s insides twist like he’s back at the Academy in the gyroscope, trying not to throw up everything he’s ever eaten. 

He fists his hands by his sides and takes a deep breath, trying to keep the calm captain exterior that he’s finding harder and harder to hold in place. 

By the time Carol is in her jumpsuit and he’s allowed to turn around, Jim’s lack of emotional expression would probably make Spock proud. 

“I’ll need someone to assist me,” Carol says. 

Jim shrugs. “No problem. We have some of the best engineers in the galaxy on board.”

Carol shakes her head. “I don’t need that kind of assistance. I need the steadiest hands you’ve got. Someone who understands that even a millimeter of movement can mean the difference between life and death. One of your medical team, perhaps.”

She looks at him, and Jim looks back and wonders if she knows about Bones, wonders if she’s doing this on purpose. 

He considers sending M’Benga with her, but he can’t do that. McCoy has the steadiest hands and everyone knows it. The miracles he performs in surgeries are legendary, both on and off the ship by now, and Jim knows he was offered a sizeable enticement to stay Earthside and work at Starfleet medical. The fact he’s followed Jim back out into space makes Jim’s heart burn with love and worry in equal measure. 

So he can’t send M’Benga. And McCoy would be angry if he knew Jim was letting his personal feelings, his instinct to protect Bones and say, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him,” like a child with a favourite toy, interfere with what needs to be done. 

Carol is flicking through a list of personnel on one of the shuttle’s computer screens. 

“Someone like…” she scrolls through, stopping on a picture that Jim hates because it doesn’t look like McCoy, gruff and frowning, or like Bones, sarcastic and begrudgingly happy, but like a complete stranger. “Doctor Leonard McCoy,” Carol finishes. 

“Oh, he’s going to love this,” Jim says. And comms McCoy to tell him. 

~~~ 

Leonard has dealt with many, many awkward and uncomfortable moments in his life. Being caught by members of the Enterprise crew doing...unspeakable things to their Captain. Sitting across from Jocelyn as she and her lawyer listed every flaw and weakness in his character until he’d just signed the damn papers to make it go away. Holding his mother’s arm as they swore blind that they had no idea why his father passed so suddenly and, no, they didn’t want an autopsy. Having his grandmother walk in on him doing things no teenager wants to be caught doing. 

Now he has another to add to the list. 

He lets Carol pilot the shuttle, even though he’s perfectly capable of doing it (and his piloting is not the reason for the scattering of grey hairs Jim found at his temple recently, no matter what Jim says). He sits in the copilot's seat and stares straight ahead as they leave the Enterprise and fly towards the uninhabited planetoid. 

There’s an open channel between them and the ship, and Leonard listens to Carol explain what they’re going to do, hears the familiar sound of Jim’s voice telling them to be careful out there. 

And then Carol severs the connection and looks across at him. 

“I appreciate you agreeing to do this,” she says. 

“I’m not in the habit of disobeying orders,” Leonard replies stiffly, and watches the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. 

“No, I’m sure you’re not,” she says. “Must be quite the juggling act, CMO and the Captain’s...boyfriend.”

Leonard stares at her. “Did Jim tell you?” He feels a surge of annoyance. It’s one thing for Jim to send him off on a damn fool errand with his apparent soulmate. It’s another to send him off unarmed. 

“No,” Carol replies. “I asked a few crew members about the Captain, and it wasn’t hard to figure out from there.”

“I suppose you have questions,” Leonard says. 

“Not really,” Carol says. “I don’t think it really matters.”

Leonard gives her a calculating look. “You think I’m going to step down. Hand him over to you. Like he’s a possession that can be passed from person to person.”

Carol flinches, then regains her composure, keeping her eyes on the controls. “That’s generally how these things go,” she says. “He won’t be the first person to kill time with someone else until their soulmate comes along. And he won’t be the last. But it always ends the same. It takes a lot of strength to ignore the bond.”

“Jim’s the strongest man I know,” Leonard says. “We’re both strong.”

“Strong enough to live with the knowledge you’re denying each other true happiness? Strong enough to hold each other back from your destiny?”

“Strong enough to possess rational and critical thought and to know that fate is a load of horseshit,” Leonard shoots back. 

Carol glances across at him. She stares at him for a long moment, then smiles, laughing. 

“Dammit,” she says. “I like you, Doctor McCoy.”

“Well I don’t like you,” he says, then adds grudgingly, “but you can call me Leonard.”

“Nice to meet you, Leonard,” Carol says, as they approach the planetoid and she begins doing landing checks. 

“And it’s good to finally meet you,” Leonard says, more of a mutter under his breath. 

She’s everything and nothing like he’d imagined, and he isn’t sure what to do with the fact that Jim’s soulmate is sitting there, that she’d smiled at him, told him she liked him after he refused to give in to her pushing. 

Carol seems strong and determined to get her way, which makes her a good match for Jim. Leonard thinks that the universe has gotten something right, at least, in matching their temperaments. But he’s damned if he’ll let the universe have its way. Not in this. 

Somehow, now that Jim’s soulmate isn’t an unknown anymore, Leonard feels more confident about their relationship than ever. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s the sort of mess of emotions and lack of logic that he’s tempted to tell Spock about, just so he can watch the flash of confusion and frustration burst behind Spock’s eyes. 

The shuttle lands, and as they unload the equipment they’ll need, Jim’s voice sounds on the comm. 

He is, as always, reassuring, but Leonard can hear the anxiety threading through his carefully casual words. 

Leonard does what he always does in moments like this, something he’s learnt from his father, various attending surgeons, and Jim himself. 

He covers his nerves with bravado. He jokes and brags and throws around confidence like he has enough to spare. 

Inside he’s a bundle of nerves, and it isn’t all from having to shove his arm inside a torpedo. 

Leonard is ready to follow instructions, to cut the wires, to do exactly as he’s told, when the panel slams shut, trapping his arm. And a horrifying countdown begins. 

There’s a split second where he meets Carol’s eyes, and he can’t help but wonder. Leonard is sure he hadn’t moved, hadn’t triggered anything. So he wonders if Carol did, if this was all some set up to get him out of the way, to leave a hole in Jim’s heart for her to crawl into. 

Carol jumps to her feet and Leonard yells and he can hear Jim demanding they be beamed back on board. But he knows before he hears Spock say it – there’s no way to beam him back without the torpedo. 

Leonard thinks for a moment that Carol is going to run away, to give the transporter team time to save her, leaving him to die, and the stupid thing is he doesn’t blame her, because there’s a hell of a lot of morally grey and sometimes even morally black things he’d do for Jim, to keep him. 

But then Carol dashes around to the other side of the torpedo and starts doing something that he hopes is disarming the bomb. 

And all Leonard can do is watch the numbers flashing before him, counting down the last seconds of his life. 

He can’t look at Carol, but he feels a moment of guilt for thinking she’d leave him, and a moment of sadness for what he’s going to leave behind, and then a moment of completely Jim Kirk-esque bravery, as he speaks before he can really think about it.

“Jim, get her the hell out of here.”

He says it because it’s the right thing to do. Because he would say it if it were anyone else on the planetoid with him. Because he’s a doctor and what he does best is saves lives, even if that means sacrificing his own. 

And he says it because he’s selfish and he doesn’t want Jim to be alone, doesn’t want him to lose a lover and a soulmate in one foul swoop. Doesn’t want Jim to have to mourn by himself. 

He starts counting down the seconds until the detonation. 

~~~ 

The blood running through Jim’s veins turns icy cold, and his heart clenches hard enough that he thinks maybe he needs a doctor. Except his doctor, his  _ Bones _ , is busy counting down to his death and Jim feels helpless to save him.  

He hears Sulu telling him they’re ready to beam Carol back, hears Bones yell to save her, and he just stands there, wishing and hoping and begging for it not to be happening. 

Uhura is beside him, and he can see her gaze, her worry, her concern for him. 

He hears Carol swear and he knows it’s too late now, that he’s lost the chance to save both of them from his idiotic indecision, and there’s a panic of  _ gonegonegone _ in his gut, and then Bones abruptly stops counting. 

Jim waits for one of his crew to tell him there’s been an explosion, to report no life signs. But they don’t. 

“Deactivation successful, Captain,” Spock says, and Uhura’s hand lands on his shoulder, and she leans into him. 

Jim realises that she’s probably the only one who fully understands his dilemma – she knows about him and Bones (Jim swears that it’s a complete accident, how many times she’s walked in on them, although he’s sure neither Uhura nor Bones really believe him), and about the name scrawled across his back (he admits to being disappointed that, upon seeing him almost naked and emerging from under Gaila’s bed, it’s the only thing she commented on later, and not his sculpted physique or something else much more impressive). So he appreciates the gesture, and the moment her hand leaves him, he slumps forward, relief making his knees buckle. 

“Doctor McCoy, are you alright?” he asks, then, when he doesn’t get a response, before the panic starts to set in, “Bones!”

And Bones replies and everything is right with the world, until he registers the words. 

When they’re back on board the ship, it takes everything Jim has not to reach out and touch, to check for himself that Bones is alright. Instead he straightens his shoulders and focuses on the increasingly bizarre situation. 

“Doctor McCoy,” Jim says, once they’ve finished discussing the man in the torpedo and Spock is looking pointedly towards the door. “May I see you in your office?” His tone and gaze are both steely enough that everyone knows not to argue with him, but Spock tries anyway. 

“Captain, we should ascertain–”

“I just need two minutes,” Jim interrupts and follows Bones into his office. 

“Jim,” Bones says the moment the door slides shut behind them, and Jim crowds him up against the wall, kissing him and running his hands everywhere he can reach, to reassure himself that Bones is there, that he’s alive. 

“Ow,” Bones says into Jim’s mouth, and Jim pulls back, removing his fingers from Bones’s left forearm. “It’s nothing,” Bones says, before Jim can ask. “Just some bruising, but nothing’s broken. I’m fine.”

“You almost weren’t,” Jim points out. 

“But thanks to Carol…” Bone says, trailing off pointedly. “She saved me Jim. You know you should have beamed her back.”

“You know I wouldn’t leave you to die. Alone,” Jim says, and Bones kisses him, hard and fierce and Jim wishes someone else was Captain, and that they could deal with everything that needs to be done, so that he could stay in Bones’s arms. 

“This is going to suck, isn’t it?” Bones says, and Jim knows he means everything with Harrison and the cryotube, and also Carol. 

“It always does,” Jim says, and runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down. 

“Here, let me,” Bones says, sounding exasperated, and by the time Jim walks back out to meet Spock, to confront Harrison, he looks presentable again. 

As they leave sickbay, he looks at Carol. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and she just nods and watches him go. 

~~~ 

Leonard stares down at Jim. He’s never seen something so unnatural in his life. Jim is never still. He’s always moving, a flurry of activity. Even when he’s sitting deep in thought, there’s a twitch of his fingers, a tapping of his foot. Even when he sleeps, he moves and mumbles and seems like he’s acting out dreams rather than just observing them. 

But now Jim is motionless and completely devoid of life and whatever it is that makes Jim who he is. His soul, Leonard supposes, and pointedly ignores the fact that Carol is standing an arm's length away, staring at Jim like she’s lost the most important thing in her world. 

And she doesn’t have that right. Because Leonard has just lost the most important thing in the universe, his motivation for getting up most mornings, the reason that he’s out there in space thinking he’s about to die and getting to watch his family almost die too. 

He feels numb, emptier than he’s ever felt before, and his brain is refusing to accept that it’s true. The idea of there not being a Jim anymore just doesn’t make any sense and so when he feels his knees begin to give out he walks to a chair and sits down hard. He puts his face in his hands and just tries to remember how to breathe. 

And that’s when the tribble starts to purr. 

Leonard checks its vitals, realisation starting to dawn in a terrifying way, because suddenly there’s hope and he has to do this. He has to make it work. 

He yells for a cryotube.

“What are you doing?” Carol demands. 

Leonard ignores her. His staff immediately jump to follow his orders, but Carol gets in his way. 

“Tell me!” she says. 

“Khan’s blood,” he says, “it might be able to save him.”

She doesn’t argue, helping with the cryotube while he frantically tries to contact Spock, to get the  bridge to contact him, to bring Khan back alive. 

It’s an agonising wait. And Leonard paces the room, watching the chrono, calculating the time since Jim died, and how long they’ll have before it’s too late. He thinks about everything he’ll have to do to prepare the serum, everything that will have to happen perfectly if there’s even a fraction of a chance that it’ll succeed. 

“What can I do?” Carol asks, her voice sounding broken. Leonard tries not to scowl at her – his staff know not to interrupt him when he’s trying to plan miracles in his head, and it’s not her fault she doesn’t know this. 

“You can shut up,” Leonard snaps. “I need to think.”

“Tell me what has to be done,” Carol pushes, and god, she’s just like Jim in so many ways, refusing to take no for an answer, always trying to be there, to be the hero. 

“I think you and your father have done enough,” Leonard says cruelly, seeing the words slap her hard in the face. It takes her a moment to recover, and when she does her eyes are watery but defiant.

“Whatever my father did,” she says, “I’ve done nothing wrong. And I deserve to know what’s happening. Jim is  _ my _ soulmate, after all.”

Leonard senses the change in the room as his staff and Scotty, and the security team who’re staring at Jim in the cryotube like they don’t know what to do with themselves, all go very still. 

“Christ,” Scotty mutters, and he’s looking at Leonard with pity and confusion. Leonard wonders how many of the crew had just assumed that he was Jim’s soulmate, and Jim was his. No one had ever asked, and so they’d never told, and very few people have seen their soulmarks to know the truth.

“I don’t care,” Leonard says. “I want you to leave.” He looks over at the security team. “Get this woman out of here.”

They move immediately, no hesitation, but she stands her ground in front of him. 

“Let me ask you something, Doctor McCoy,” she says, words clipped and precise. “Imagine our positions are reversed. Imagine it’s your name on his body, but he’s in a relationship with me. What would you do? Wouldn’t you want to fight for him? To be there to fight for his life?”

Leonard nods, stomach tilting unpleasantly. “He’s worth fighting for.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“You don’t even know him,” Leonard says, and it’s barely a whisper. He can see the pain in her eyes, and it looks just like how he feels. 

“And yet what little I do know is enough to tell me he’s worth it. Enough to want to know more, if we can do this. If you can do this.”

Leonard stares at her. He stares at the woman who loves Jim, has probably loved him since she could read his name. He thinks about how she’d insisted on staying when she could have beamed away and left him with the torpedo, could have had exactly what she wanted for the minor cost of his life. Which isn’t worth anything to anyone, now that Jim’s gone. 

And he realises that maybe she’s feeling the same way, having lost her father and now her soulmate in the space of a matter of hours. 

Compassion is part of what makes Leonard who he is, a huge part of who he is at his core. It’s what makes him an excellent doctor, despite what people might say about his bedside manner. 

So he waves the security team away, and the tension leaves her shoulders. 

“I need help setting up for the transfusion,” he says, an olive branch. 

She takes it and stands shoulder to shoulder with him, following his instructions with such precision that he almost wishes she were a medic or molecular biologist who he could put to work in the research labs. 

“I’m not going to give up on him,” Leonard says, mostly to himself. 

“Neither am I,” Carol replies softly, but he can hear the challenge in her voice. 

Spock brings Khan back, blessedly unconscious, and Leonard makes the serum, Carol continuing to follow the orders he barks at her. 

He does everything he can, including breaking enough ethics that Spock will probably go catatonic when he finds out, and then he breaks the laws of nature. 

Jim lives. 

And they wait to see what happens next. 

~~~ 

Jim wouldn’t believe it was true, if he hadn’t seen the truth of it written in the lines on Bones’s face, in Spock’s eyes, the way Nyota digs her nails into his arm when she visits. 

There’s no reports to read on what actually happened – Spock’s official report is, frankly, a pack of lies, and Jim thinks that maybe it was Bones’s doing, except that Bones seems as shocked as Jim when he finds out. Jim knows Spock did it to protect him, to protect Bones, to protect everyone who participated in bringing him back. And maybe there’s some part of Jim that’s rubbing off on Spock, teaching him how to bend the rules when you need to.

So the reports just say Jim had severe radiation poisoning, was on the verge of death, but the serum rejuvenated him in time. And Jim’s glad that’s the official story. It’s the one he wants to tell himself, because the alternative is terrifying – for himself, for his crew, for Bones. 

Carol waits until Spock forces Bones to rest, under threat of hypospray or nerve pinch. Then she slips through the door with a quiet murmured hello. 

She sits straight backed and uncomfortable in the chair and talks to him. They talk about how he’s feeling, about how she’s dealing with her father’s death, about what will happen next in terms of city rebuilding and ship repairs and doubtless endless debriefings. 

But they don’t talk about the giant Georgian elephant in the room. They skirt around any mention of Bones, any mention of what he means to Jim. It feels unnatural to Jim, but he follows her lead in the conversation and plays along.

Eventually they lapse into silence, that is comfortable in a way that shouldn’t surprise Jim, but it does. 

“He loves you very much,” Carol says, and her mouth twists into a sad smile.

“He does,” Jim agrees, feeling his cheek muscles threaten to pull his mouth into a wide grin, the one that always splits his face when he thinks of Bones. 

“He was quite rude to me, you know.” Jim notes that she doesn’t say his name, and he wishes that this wouldn’t hurt her, that there was some other way. 

“Bones is rude to everyone,” Jim says dismissively. Carol purses her lips, raising her eyebrows, and he tilts his head a little, the tiniest of shrugs. “But I’m sure he dialed it up a notch or two for you. I’m sorry.”

“You don't have to apologise for him.”

“I know I don't,” Jim says, “but someone probably should, and I won't ask him to do it. He's been through enough recently. He watched me die, and brought me back to life. Spock says he didn't leave my side for more than five minutes.” 

Jim doesn't know why he feels the need to defend Bones to her, but he can feel himself bristle as she watches him expressionlessly. He wants her to understand what Bones means to him. Needs her to acknowledge it, to accept that nothing is going to change. 

And then Carol pulls out her trump card. “I felt you die,” she says, head bowed.

Her words make Jim's entire body jerk like he's been electrocuted. 

“I was in sickbay, and the osteoregenerator was still on my leg. I remember at the time, when I felt the bone snap, that it was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Then I saw my father die, and that pain was even greater. But lying there in sickbay, thinking I was healing and yet waiting for us to fall out of the sky – I felt the moment when you died. It shattered my heart into pieces.”

“Carol,” Jim says. 

She lifts her head to look at him, and her eyes are shining like tears. 

“I knew even before they brought you in. I knew, and he didn’t. He just carried on running around sickbay checking on his patients, like nothing was different, like the world hadn’t just ended. And I thought, he can’t love you, not like I can.”

“I didn’t know,” Jim says, reaching out to grasp her hand. Her skin feels paper thin, fragile. But when she squeezes back, there’s strength in her grip. “I didn’t know it really worked that way. I thought it was just–”

“Stories,” Carol finishes. “I know. I did too. It doesn’t happen with everyone, I don’t think.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Jim says. “Did you…”

“I didn’t tell him, if that’s what you’re about to ask,” she says angrily, eyes flashing. And then she laughs, but it’s hollow.

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” she says, shaking her head. “Does it? It doesn’t matter who I am, what I say. It’ll always be him.”

Jim lips his lips, mouth suddenly parched. He clears his throat, tries to swallow over the lump that’s forming there. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. He’s sorry for her, for breaking a promise she’s had her whole life. He’s sorry for leaving her alone, and for not being able to give her what she wants. 

And in a way, he’s sorry for himself too. It would be easy, he thinks, to tell Carol yes, to blindly follow because eleven letters on his skin tell him to. Life with Bones won’t be easy. Neither of them are willing to bend, neither willing to compromise. There will always be the fear, too, of who Bones’s soulmate is, of whether she will be as hard to push away as Carol is. 

But what there is between Jim and Bones is greater. It’s something that Jim has never felt with another person in his life, and he knows he’ll never feel again. Bones gives him life – figuratively and, now, literally too – and Jim can’t face a future without him, no matter how much it’s going to hurt other people. 

“So am I,” Carol says, and they hold each other’s hands and blink away the tears in silence as the room begins to grow dark. 

The door opens and Bones steps in, and his expression is instantly shielded. 

Carol follows Jim’s gaze, dropping his hand and jumping to her feet. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, then leans in, pressing a careful kiss to Jim’s dry lips. 

“Still nothing?” she asks, half joking, and Jim smiles sadly and lifts a hand to her cheek. 

“Goodbye, Jim,” she says, and walks to the door. 

She stops in front of Bones, tipping her head to look up at him, and Jim can see Bones swallow hard, staring back at her. He looks almost afraid of what she’s going to say. 

“I wanted to tell you that you’re getting more than you deserve,” she says softly enough that Jim has to strain to listen. “But we both know that would be a lie.”

Then she stands on tiptoes to wrap an arm around Bones’s neck, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. 

Bones looks more shocked than Jim has ever seen him, which is saying a lot, considering all of the shit they’ve been through over the years. And he gapes at the doorway as Carol hurries out. 

Then he turns back to Jim, giving him a hard look.

“Nothing happened,” Jim says, worried that Bones is going to misinterpret what he’d seen. 

Bones looks at him like he’s a moron, and it’s a nice change. There’s been an air of too much carefulness lately, as if Jim is a fragile china doll who Bones is scared to touch. Even the scolding has been light, the comments too lacking in sarcasm. So it’s nice to think that maybe things will go back to normal, that he’ll be yelled at and called names under the guise of hiding Bones’s worry about him once again. 

“I know that,” Bones says. He walks over to the bed, reaching down to push the hair back off Jim’s forehead. “I have utmost faith in you.”

Jim smiles up at him. “We’re going to be okay, Bones,” he says. 

And they are. 

~~~ 

The Enterprise completes its five year mission, then another, living up to its ethos of boldly going where no one has gone before. They experience amazing things, have too many close calls for anyone’s liking, but find it worthy all the same. And once again, they head back out into the black for a third spin around the galaxy. 

Jim knows the moment when Carol dies. It feels like she’d described all those years ago, and it renews his guilt, making him wish all over again that he could have spared her the pain. 

He tells Bones that Carol is dead before they get the communique from Starfleet, and Bones doesn’t question how he knew. 

Instead he holds Jim in his arms and whispers how it’ll be okay, and when Jim leaks tears and saliva and snot onto Bones’s favourite shirt, he doesn’t complain once. 

Jim feels her death like a loss he doesn’t deserve to feel, and that weighs heavy on him. The pain is raw inside him for a moment, but then subsides, quicker than he thinks grief really should.

They turn the ship around and go back for the funeral, orders be damned. 

There, after a quiet and respectful ceremony, Jim meets Carol’s son, David. He’s a young boy of ten with sandy hair and startling blue eyes. 

Later, when they’re on their way home, back to the ship, he turns to Bones and says, “He’s not mine.”

And Bones says it never once crossed his mind. Jim can’t tell if he’s lying or not – a decade in close quarters with Spock has taught him to school his emotions much better – but it really doesn’t matter. 

A year passes, and they meet the Fabrini. Their worldship is on collision course with an inhabited planet, and the Enterprise is sent to destroy what had appeared to be merely an asteroid. As so often in space, things are rarely what they seem. They beam down onto the cleverly disguised ship, the Yonada. 

Natira is beautiful and striking, and when she introduces herself Jim sees Bones’s hand fly to his right thigh, palm pressing over the name inscribed there. His eyes seek out Jim, panicked, and Jim shakes his head, reaches for him, trying to tell him it’ll be okay. He lets himself believe for a moment that it’s just coincidence, that there may be thousands of beings named Natira in the universe, and that the rival for Bones’s heart isn’t the beauty standing before them. 

But when he introduces the away team, Natira’s eyes are drawn curiously to Bones, like she’s heard his name before, as if it means something to her. And Jim knows then that it’s her, that there’s no doubt. And he can’t look at Bones, just like he hadn’t been able to all those years before when Carol had appeared in their lives. 

Matters are complicated by the fact that the Fabrini don’t want to believe they’re on a ship, that they and almost four billion lives depend on them changing course. Natira alternates between puzzlement at their words, and curiosity cast at Bones, and Jim wants to stand between them, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and make her see reason. 

When they beam back to the ship, Jim finally lets his eyes rest on Bones, and his heart clenches when he sees the curious looks Bones is returning. 

Back on the Enterprise, Jim’s orders from Starfleet are to continue with the destruction of the ship. He sees Bones’s knuckles whiten as he grips the back of Spock’s chair, fighting against saying something. 

And Jim thinks about all the times he’s almost died. He knows that it’s only a matter of time before he’s gone, in a way that no one, not even Bones, can bring him back. And the thought of Bones being left alone terrifies him more than death ever could. He needs Bones to have someone, and who better than that someone being Bones’s soulmate. He’d rather lose Bones now than leave him behind, alone in the universe. 

So Jim defies orders, breaks the prime directive and interferes by force to break the control of the ship’s computer and steer the Yonada onto a safer course. 

The Fabrini are surprisingly grateful, once the Oracle’s control is lifted, and Jim watches as Natira draws Bones away from the rest of them. Jim watches Bones leave the room, and tries to focus on what Spock is saying about the information the Fabrini want to share with them. He’s sure it’ll be very useful, to someone, someday, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Bones is gone for what seems like an interminably long moment, and Jim wonders if this is where he and Bones will part, whether Bones will decide not only to leave Jim, but also the Enterprise and the crew, his family. 

When Bones returns, he moves to Jim’s side, looking uncomfortable. There are angry red blotches high on his cheeks, and his brow is furrowed. He reaches for Jim’s elbow, and Jim sighs at the contact, relief flooding him. 

“Let’s go home,” Bones says in his ear, and Jim’s eyes slide to Natira, standing in the doorway watching them, looking pinched and tired and disappointed. 

“There’s something I need to do, first,” Jim says, and Bones’s hand falls away as he steps forward. 

Natira says nothing as he approaches her, just sweeps from the room, leading him to an antechamber close by. 

“You are the one he chooses,” she says to him, and Jim doesn’t apologise. Instead he just nods. 

“Thank you for not challenging that,” he says, and she smiles. 

“I am like you,” Natira says. “I am a leader. I recognise your resolve and strength. I fear you would not let him go without a fight, and my people are too important to risk for someone who does not want me.”

Jim shakes his head. “If he chose to go, I wouldn’t stand in his way,” he says. 

Natira rests her hand against his cheek. Her touch is colder than Jim expects but he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his gaze locked with hers, and if there’s a challenge there, it’s not one he can control. “How lucky you are, to be blessed with his love.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jim says, and she lets her hand drop, stepping aside to let him pass from the room.

“My people,” Natira says softly, making him turn in the doorway, “we live a long time. Longer than your people, I suspect.”

It’s half threat, half promise, and Jim nods grimly. 

“I suspect you’re right,” he says. “And I hope it’s true.” He sees her brow furrow for a moment, then he turns and leaves. 

Bones is waiting for him impatiently, pacing the room. His head snaps up as Jim walks in and there’s worry and relief and annoyance there, and Jim wishes he could kiss it all away. 

Instead he brushes their shoulders together and orders them beamed up. 

They don’t talk about their conversations with Natira. But days later, when Bones looks up from the PADD filled with medical research gleamed from the Yonada’s computers, so generously shared, and says, “I think she understood,” Jim doesn’t question. 

He doesn’t press for more information, doesn’t even respond with more than a nod. Because even with everything they are to each other, they each still deserve some privacy. 

When the call comes to return to Earth to face court martial for defying orders, they argue. Much of what they argue about is nonsensical, and unimportant. But amidst it all, Jim tells Bones why breaking these orders was easier than any he’d ever broken before. 

Bones gets a hard look on his face.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he says. “I’ve pulled you out of the arms of death once, and I’ll do it again and again until death finally gives up trying, and lets us grow old together.”

Jim has a lot of faith in Bones. More than he has in anyone else. More than Bones has in himself. Even still, he doesn’t think that Bones will always be able to save him. But Bones’s eyes are wide and furious and scared, and they’ve each had enough pain to last a lifetime, so Jim smiles and nods.  

“I like the sound of that,” he says, and pulls Bones down onto the bed they share, fitting their bodies together in ways so well rehearsed that it’s second nature to them both now. 

Back on Earth, Jim is grounded, and Sulu is given the Enterprise. Jim appreciates the apology in his eyes, outshining the excitement he knows Sulu feels, and he sincerely wishes the crew well. 

Jim considers retirement, but thinks they’ll both go crazy if they do that. So it’s Bones who makes him take the Admiral position they offer, even though Jim can’t think of anything worse. Bones dismisses his concerns. 

“You and I both know that you’ll get so bored, you’ll drive everyone at Starfleet HQ so crazy they’ll send you back out into space sooner rather than later. And you know I’ll happily follow you.”

Jim smiles and watches as Bones walks away. The universe, in his not so humble opinion, doesn’t know half as much as it seemingly likes to think. Because no matter what their soulmarks say, Jim is certain that there is no-one out there, not in all of the black expanse of space, who is more perfect for him than Leonard McCoy. 

**Author's Note:**

> The last instalment in the 'Interconnected' series. It started as an experiment- how many ways I could make Bones and Jim soulmates, how many vague ideas could become fully fledged stories. I'm happy with how it all came out. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone who has read the series. I appreciate you taking the time, and I hoped you enjoyed the stories.


End file.
